Wit. You haue your friends, Sir, 15 About you here, for choice.
Eve. She tells you right, Sir.
Hee hopes to be the man.
Fit. Death, if ſhe doe, what do I care for that? Say, I would haue her tell me wrong.
Wit. Why, Sir, [156] If for the truſt, you’ll let me haue the honor To name you one.
Fit. Nay, you do me the honor, Madame: 20 Who is’t?
Wit. This Gentleman:
Shee deſignes Manly.
Fit. O, no, sweet Madame, H’is friend to him, with whom I ha’ the dependance.
Wit. Who might he bee?